


When It's There On The Wall

by formerlydf



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, Time Travel, x-factor era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:24:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formerlydf/pseuds/formerlydf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The funny thing about meeting yourself from the future is that it's not quite as reassuring as you'd imagine. (Or, Liam and Louis go back to the past and have a great time. Their teenage selves? Not so much.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It's There On The Wall

**Author's Note:**

> So, okay. [This happened](http://totallyimaginaryfriend.tumblr.com/post/45217385637/hopetorun-video-look-at-the-way-bb-liam-is), and then [this happened](http://totallyimaginaryfriend.tumblr.com/post/45430004142/1d-editing-challenge-18-a-moment-where-you), and then one or two people said, "Great, awesome, where's the rest?" and I went, "There is no rest, this is a snippet-only scenario, there's no story to tell here," and they said, "Okay, cool, where's the rest?" and as I was about to protest once more that I had nothing more to say about time travel, suddenly I realised that I _did_ have more to say and a lot of it had to do with Liam having feelings. Which, you know, is about the point where everything spiralled out of control. So after about seven months... Hey, guys. Here's the rest.
> 
> Title from "Hold On," by Aiden Grimshaw. So many thanks to [croissantkatie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/croissantkatie) and ifonlyella for britpicking/beta-ing; slightly fewer thanks to the people on my twitter feed who frowned at me until I wrote this, because I maintain that without them I wouldn't have spent seven months on this insanity. You know who you are, guys. This is all your fault.

Liam can’t look at himself because he’s afraid he won’t be able to _stop_ looking at himself. Three years shouldn’t be able to make such a difference, should they? Nicola came home after four years of uni and the only real difference was that she cursed a little more and got a full-time job. She didn’t — didn’t practically shave her head, or get taller, or suddenly have all sorts of tattoos the rest of them didn’t understand.

He looks older. He looks grown up, even if he’s not acting it at all.

It’s easier to watch not-Louis; he’s got different hair too, and even more stupid tattoos, but somehow it’s less weird on him. Liam is more used to Louis being baffling. The problem is that not-Louis and not-Liam haven’t stopped touching this entire time, which makes it really difficult to stare at one without the other, to follow the curve of an arm and skip over the shoulders it’s wrapped around. He can’t imagine that a hand is holding nothing.

Liam curls into the corner of the sofa and watches Niall instead. Harry’s sat almost on top of Louis and Zayn keeps looking between Liams, but Niall’s always a safe bet.

-

> Harry elbows Louis in the thigh. “Stop staring,” he hisses.
> 
> “I’m not staring,” Louis whispers. He’s definitely staring. If he could figure out a way to keep himself from blinking he’d do it in a heartbeat. “Anyway, you are too.”
> 
> It’s not like it matters. Future Liam and future Louis are staring too, when they’re not making faces at each other and laughing. Everyone’s staring except for Liam, who’s just got the same face he does when Savan’s giving them notes after practice or when someone’s trying to teach them how to dance. Probably he’s trying to figure out how distracted this is going to make them all and whether it’ll ruin their performance tomorrow. 
> 
> Louis hopes it won’t. He can’t say he won’t let it happen, since he really has very little to do with how good they sound from week to week, but if they don’t win he’s not entirely sure that One Direction won’t just go in no directions.
> 
> It’s not that he thinks the rest of them wouldn’t stick around, at first. If not for sentimental reasons, then at least because it makes more sense to keep to a group that’s already got a fanbase rather than trying to strike out alone again. They can coast for a little while just on being runners-up on X Factor, the boys Simon Cowell once said were the most exciting thing in pop music. Besides, they’re better together than apart; Niall is the energy, Louis’s the comic relief, Harry’s the heart, Liam’s the drive, Zayn’s the cool. Harry needs them to distract him from assholes or from throwing up before shows, Zayn needs people to relax around, Louis needs people who can sing, Niall needs protection from crowds, and Liam may not realise it yet but he needs to loosen up and stop being so alone.
> 
> But Louis isn’t an idiot. They can’t rely on reality show fame forever, and they only have so long to try to break in before they’re going to be losing most of the people that are screaming for them right now. It’s hard, trying to be a teen idol. There’s only one Justin Bieber; that’s rather the point. And what happens when they’ve been trying but not getting very far, and they remember that they were just five kids put together by chance and Simon Cowell and all of a sudden they have to try and travel together for weeks on end? Will Harry’s mum gently suggest that he might want to go to college after all? Will Liam think it might be better to cut his losses and try to make it on his own? How long will it take for everyone to decide they’ve better things to do?
> 
> He tries not to let it keep him up at night, because as his mum likes to say, there’s no point borrowing trouble ahead of your time. It’s just something he’s aware of, in his more cynical moments. Except —
> 
> Well, except. Except here Liam and Louis are, fresh from three years in the future, and they’re still in a band and future Liam is laughing and tattooed and happier than Louis has ever seen him, hanging onto future Louis like there’s no place he’d rather be.
> 
> Louis needs to believe that this can happen. Staring is unavoidable, at this point.

-

“Well, we can’t say anything, what if we mess everything up?” not-Liam asks, and it sounds reasonable: just ignore it, and talk about other things, and hope that they go back to where they’re supposed to be or _when_ they’re supposed to be or whatever. Better not to know.

The band must still be together, if Louis is still hanging out with Liam three years from now. They must get something right.

“Not even about the Olympics?” not-Louis asks, and Niall, Niall, Liam is focusing on Niall, Niall who has always managed to adapt to each new confusion in their life so much faster than Liam ever could, Niall who even so widens his eyes like this is too huge for him to immediately absorb. “Or what about Niall kissing Katy Perry, that’s not too much of a spoiler—“

“Louis!” not-Liam protests, kicking him, but of course Liam would know better than anyone that he’s not really scolding not-Louis. He wonders whether everyone else can hear just how fond not-Liam sounds.

Liam thinks about the Olympics, about being slightly too slow for the 1500, about Simon calling them the most exciting new thing in pop music. He’s never been a hopeful person, not really. He dreams, yeah; he’s let his dreams lead him right to the practice rooms and abandoned hallways and gigs that never even covered the price of petrol to get there. If he works hard enough, he can make his dreams real, and if they don’t become real then he didn’t work hard enough, wasn’t good enough. The flip side of that, though, is knowing the limits of how far you can dream.

The Olympics. Just winning the X Factor seemed like almost too much to ask for.

“We go to the Olympics?” Harry asks, his eyes bright.

Liam looks over at himself, can’t help it, and finds himself looking back. After five minutes, he goes down the hall to the toilet, locks the door, and panics quietly for as many deep breaths as he can force himself to take.

-

> Harry looks a bit as though he’s going to pass out, probably from the thought of singing in front of almost literally the entire world. Louis wonders if he falls down, or is going to fall down in the future, or whatever. It would be like Harry.
> 
> Louis feels like he’s having a million heart attacks. He can’t understand how Liam just went off to the loo; he’d hold it for the rest of his life if it meant not missing a minute of this. Tattoos — really? — and the Olympics, and Niall kissing Katy Perry — _really?_ — and future Liam cracking up at future Louis’s jokes instead of just letting out the world’s shortest, quietest laugh. Even that’s a step up from the first few days of the bungalow, when the only way Louis knew Liam was enjoying himself was because there weren’t any wrinkles in his forehead.
> 
> The future is amazing. The future is the best thing Louis has ever seen. It’s like the universe has sent him a sign saying _Yes, Louis, well done, you’ve finally managed to not fuck up for once in your life, congratulations. Now in exchange we’re going to make you more famous than you ever could’ve imagined and also take the stick out of Liam’s arse. See, you knew it was possible all along._
> 
> He could pay for all his sisters to go to uni, he bets. He could buy his mum a new car. He could buy _himself_ a car. He could have places outside of Doncaster to drive to. And two years ago, he thinks, his teachers all told him that he’d never get anywhere if he didn’t apply himself.
> 
> Liam slips back in the door. When Louis grins at him, he looks perturbed and glances away.

-

“Where are the rest of us?” Zayn asks, and Liam looks at him, stricken. Liam and Louis can’t still be in the band without Zayn. Not to mention that he can’t imagine Louis doing anything without Harry, and losing Niall would be awful, but he’s not sure how he can do anything — the Olympics, god, and not-Liam is pressed against not-Louis — he doesn’t want to manage any of it without Zayn. The first three days at the bungalow were bad enough.

Not-Liam and not-Louis worry at each other for a few seconds, mostly with their eyebrows. “Hopefully still in the future,” not-Liam says. “They were still asleep when we went to get breakfast.”

“Did I not tell you we should’ve slept in?” not-Louis asks, sighing dramatically. So he probably never stops thinking Liam is too uptight, then.

Not-Liam just rolls his eyes and smiles. “I _said_ you didn’t have to come. You were the one who didn’t trust me to come back.”

“Because you can’t be trusted on your own,” not-Louis sniffs. He shakes his head at the rest of them. “Get him in front of a fan with a pen and he’s putty. Useless. He’d never have made it back before we left, he’d have got kidnapped and held in someone’s basement.”

Niall finally looks wary. “That’s not something that actually happens, is it?”

“No,” not-Liam says, frowning at not-Louis, except for how his mouth keeps twitching like he’s trying not to smile. Not-Liam smiles a lot, it’s a bit weird. Not that Liam doesn’t smile, just — he’d be a lot more worried if he were stuck three years in the past. With Louis. “And I am not—”

“Putty!” not-Louis says, even more loudly. “Almost worse than you in a pet store, I swear—”

They’re good at this, the banter thing. But then, he supposes, they’ve had three years to get used to it, haven’t they?

-

“What’m I like?” Harry asks, looking at not-Louis.

“You’ve got twenty-seven tattoos and they’re all worse than each other,” not-Louis says promptly, which seems a bit rich given that he’s apparently got a cup of tea drawn on his arm. “You have a scar on your shoulder from where a fan tried to bite you, and you’ve shaved off all your hair.”

He seems about as sincere as the normal Louis usually does, his eyebrows raised in that way that makes it look as if he’s judging everyone around him, even if Liam’s not sure whether he is or not. Liam’s never asked. He didn’t want to be judged for it.

Harry tilts his head. “You liar, I have not,” he says, sounding delighted, and not-Liam bursts out laughing and hides it in not-Louis’s shoulder. Liam puts his hands on his lap.

“I can’t tell you all the answers, Harold,” not-Louis tells him, snobbish, and then spoils the effect by smiling. He nods at normal Louis. “Mostly for my sake, honestly. It won’t be much fun for me to watch you get your heart’s desire if you’re expecting it.”

“My heart’s desire?” Harry makes a face. “I don’t think I’ve got one of those.”

“You were the one who called it that, mate, not me,” not-Louis says, sincere-not-sincere. Liam looks over at Louis, to see if he’s got any clues about whether he’s telling the truth or not, but Louis is staring at the hand not-Liam’s got on not-Louis’s thigh. “If it helps, you were completely pissed at the time. Said you’d wanted it since you were thirteen.”

Harry snorts. “Well, unless I end up marrying Nick Grimshaw, I can’t think of anything. Maybe it’s not important yet.”

“And you’ve got three cats, cried on national television, and your mum’s been named MILF of the year,” not-Louis says, and not-Liam hides his smiles against not-Louis’s shirt while Harry throws a magazine at the two of them.

-

They break for dinner, once the novelty’s worn off. Zayn suggests that one of them pretend they’re feeling poorly, so that the rest of them will have an excuse to bring food back to the room; Liam carefully looks away, but Louis volunteers to stay before he can even worry about it. Maybe it’s not surprising. Louis’s been staring at not-Liam and not-Louis ever since they appeared.

“So I’ve got a question,” Louis says, and Liam slips out of the room before he can hear what it is.

They run into Rebecca in the kitchen while they’re getting food, which means changing the subject away from what they’ve got in Louis, Harry, and Niall’s bedroom. They’re not allowed to talk about the competition, either — Matt made it a house rule, to keep them all from going mad, even though Liam’s not sure what’s wrong with making sure they’re as focused as possible — so they drift into talking about some film that Harry wants to see, and how amazing it was to meet Emma Watson.

It’s nice, having Rebecca there with her arm around Zayn’s waist, talking about normal things. Rebecca’s great; she’s talented, and sweet, and she’s going to be massively famous and probably still going to be really shy, and that’ll be okay.

“You alright?” Zayn pulls him aside to ask on their way back up the stairs, and Liam shrugs and says, “It’s just weird, isn’t it?”

He wonders what Zayn’s like in the future. Niall is taller and friends with Justin Bieber and may or may not have spoken to Barack Obama and is still just as Irish and claustrophobic as ever, they said, but does Zayn still close himself off around large groups of people? Are he and Liam still the quiet ones? Is he still secretly a nerd, even if he’d die before showing it in public? Can he dance at all now?

Zayn hasn’t asked. Maybe he really does mean it when he says, “Yeah, I know.”

-

> “Are you _quite_ sure you’re not from an alternate reality?” Louis asks. Harry snorts, probably because Louis has already asked this, but Louis can’t help it. Once everyone had left the room, future Liam and future Louis dissolved into a conversation that mostly involved a lot of laughing and incomprehensible half-sentences and shoving each other. Future Louis has been making fun of future Liam a lot and future Liam laughs like it’s the funniest thing on the planet. If they’re not from an alternate reality it means that’ll be Louis, one day.
> 
> “What, do you want us to go through every bit of our lives to make sure they match?” future Louis asks, but he looks like he understands why Louis is asking. Actually his hair is sticking up every which way and he looks a bit like a twat, but an understanding twat, at least. Probably he remembers, Louis thinks; three years isn’t that long of a time in the real world, even if it feels like it’s been ages and only minutes since they all met at boot camp. “If we haven’t noticed yet, it’s probably not important enough to make a difference.”
> 
> Zayn clears his throat. “Well, yeah, but. I’ve been thinking.”
> 
> Louis’s stomach drops. There’s something about that sentence that just promises bad things, sort of like _We need to talk_ or _I got a call from your school_ , and Zayn isn’t doing anything to break the tension by actually finishing his sentence or anything.
> 
> Louis looks over to Liam, just to see. His hands are digging into his knees.
> 
> Finally Zayn looks up and asks, “Well, this didn’t happen to _you_ , did it?”
> 
> Well, then. Sometimes Louis hates being right.

-

Harry and Zayn are having some sort of argument about science fiction tropes, parallel universes where one decision changes everything versus universes that absorb “disruptions in the time stream” or something else that sounds like an episode of Doctor Who. Liam doesn’t understand it.

“Back in a moment,” he says, in case anyone isn’t sufficiently distracted, and slips out the door.

He’s not back in a moment. He means to be, to get a few seconds of chaos-free air and then return as unbothered as Niall, but instead he ends up in his and Zayn’s room, picking clothes up off the floor.

He’s making his bed when he looks up and sees himself in the doorway. “Sorry,” not-Liam says. “I know if it were me, I’d be — or, I guess you sort of are me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not you,” Liam says, sharper than he means to be. He smoothes out his duvet and moves on to making Zayn’s bed for the sake of having something to do. “And I’m not — I just needed a moment. That’s all.”

“Can I come in?” not-Liam asks. Liam nods, eventually, and not-Liam shuts the door behind him and leans against the wall. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there as Liam tucks in Zayn’s sheets. Liam doesn’t mind silence, but this isn’t the mutual kind that he and Zayn have, where both of them are just breathing it in; there’s something watchful about not-Liam and he can’t tell why.

“What?” he asks eventually.

“You keep telling yourself you’re probably not going to win and you still feel like you’re going to die if you don’t,” not-Liam says. Liam’s never really understood the difference between sympathy and empathy before, but he thinks he might now. Not-Liam doesn’t sound particularly sorry for Liam, but he’s not being mean about it, either. He just sounds like he knows.

“I’m not going to die,” Liam says.

“Yeah,” not-Liam agrees. “I didn’t.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment. Liam finishes making Zayn’s bed and looks around for something else to do with his hands, but he and Zayn have always been neater than the other boys and the room is spotless. Maybe he can blowdry his shoes or something.

“You’re not going to tell me anything?” he asks without meaning to. “That I need to — relax, because it’ll all be alright in the end? Stop worrying so much?”

Not-Liam twists his mouth to the side. “I thought about it,” he says after a moment. “But it’d be a bit hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Liam says. He sits down on Zayn’s bed. He might as well.

“Louis, my Louis, says he thought I’d have a stroke or something before the competition was over, he was that worried,” not-Liam adds. He comes over and sits on the floor across from Liam, leaning against the frame of Liam’s bed and wrapping his arms around his knees. “Or, I guess your Louis probably feels the same too, then. I don’t think we’re that different.”

“He’s not my Louis,” Liam says, frowning.

Not-Liam laughs. “Well, he’s not _my_ Louis. I mean, he is, sort of, just minus three years. It’s weird, you know? It’s not like I forgot what we used to look like, and we’ve got pictures and everything, but — I’m not used to seeing it. It’s been a while.”

“You’ve changed a lot,” Liam says. He thinks he ends up sounding a little more accusing than he meant to, because not-Liam quiets down and tips his head back against the frame.

“Not really,” not-Liam says eventually. “I think it looks like more than it is. The tattoos, and the hair, and everything. But I still wake up some mornings and forget, you know, that I’m not still sixteen and in Wolverhampton. It’s just a lot easier to worry less, now.” That seems like a big enough difference to Liam, but he doesn’t push. They sit in silence for a moment, until not-Liam adds, “I bought them a car. Mum and Dad.”

Liam is startled into a laugh. “Can you even drive yet?” They played at the Olympics, and he bought their parents a car. Liam still looks around sometimes and thinks about how he should be working with his dad, right now.

Not-Liam beams. “Yeah! I’m learning, at least. Zayn and I’ve got a bet about which of us can get our license first. And then we can take over for Louis in our videos, because he’s awful at driving when there’s a camera on him. He’s cursed.”

“Cursed?” Liam asks before he can help it.

“Definitely, he — wait, crap, I’m not supposed to be saying any of this.” Not-Liam bites his lip guiltily. “I don’t think it’s important, but it’ll be nicer if you’re surprised.”

Liam thinks he’ll be surprised enough if his life and not-Liam’s end up being the same. “You still think everything’s going to be the same, then? Even though you’re here?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t,” not-Liam says. “It’s not like you’re going to stop working for it.”

It’s reassuring, until Liam looks at the four arrows running down not-Liam’s arm. There are some things that he doesn’t think he’d know how to work for even if he tried.

-

> Harry thinks that maybe they’ll all forget everything after future Liam and future Louis go back to their time, and so it’ll happen exactly the same. Zayn looks doubtful that they’ll even go back in the first place. Niall thinks that maybe even if a few things change, it won’t change much in the long run.
> 
> “Tell me more about the girls,” Louis demands, because he has priorities.
> 
> They’ve covered this already, but future Louis apparently has the same reservations about discussing their younger siblings as Louis does — which is to say, none at all. “They’re fantastic,” he assures Louis. “Mum says they’re driving her up the wall. Also Daisy has the most hilarious crush on Niall.”
> 
> Niall grins at Louis. “So at least one Tomlinson has good taste, then.” Louis sticks his tongue out, making a wildly deranged face.
> 
> “Just get used to piggybacks, because she refuses to let you talk to anyone else if she’s not hanging off you somehow,” future Louis advises, which doesn’t manage to dampen Niall’s amusement in the slightest.
> 
> Zayn snorts, glancing between the Louises. “Well, that’s not a surprise.”
> 
> Louis frowns for a second, not entirely sure what Zayn is referring to, and then shrugs it off. “And they’re not bothered by...” He waves his hand vaguely in future Louis’s direction.
> 
> “The famous thing?” Future Louis’s smile twists to the side, his glee bleeding out. “Mum and Mark and I try to keep them away from the crazy parts, and things have mostly died down at school, but they don’t like that I’m — that we’re gone so much. But we Skype, you know, and they’re happy for me, so it’s not that much worse than going off to uni or something would have been, really.”
> 
> Louis can’t think what to say to that. He bites his tongue anyway, thinking about what he expected — or didn’t expect, really — when he auditioned for the X Factor. Thinks about how he’s just starting to get used to the surprise of not having four little monsters jumping on him, or fighting, or laughing, or sighing dramatically in a corner, and how he’s just starting to get used to having Harry run around backstage with him, and the wrinkle between Liam’s eyebrows when he tries to get them to stay still, and Niall’s easy affection, and the way Zayn lights up when he talks about comics and Power Rangers and his family. Thinks about international tours and awards shows and the fact that he can’t remember just what most of the boybands out there did after they stopped being young and pretty. Wonders how awful it is that he’s not sure he would make a different choice, even now that he’s been warned ahead of time.
> 
> And that hadn’t even been what he’d meant when he asked the question in the first place. “Actually, I meant your tattoos.”
> 
> Future Louis laughs. Louis doesn’t. After a moment, future Louis stops and makes a face like he’s only just realised Louis is serious. Louis isn’t sure why; there’s only three years difference between their thought patterns. Then again, three years was apparently enough time for Louis to scribble permanently over half his skin, so there’s that.
> 
> “I’ll have you know that they love my tattoos,” Future Louis, his voice in that wary spot between pretending-to-be-annoyed and actually-annoyed, with a heaping dash of I’m-going-to-make-sure-to-sound-superior-just-to-wind-you-up. It’s a Tomlinson family specialty.
> 
> Louis is about to go for the low blow and ask whether their _mum_ loves his tattoos, when the door opens and the Liams step in. It’s distracting enough to throw him off his stride — only for a second, but that second is crucial. Banter’s all about timing, after all; saying something after a moment of hesitation is almost worse than not saying it at all.
> 
> “Hello!” future Louis says, evidently as distracted by the new arrivals as Louis. The Liams split; future Liam directs himself towards future Louis again, but Liam leans against the nightstand, closer to Louis and Harry and Niall and Zayn than to future them but not by much. “I wondered what took you so long. Were you bonding?”
> 
> “Me-time?” Louis asks, a second before future Louis asks, smirking, “Were you having some me-time?”
> 
> Niall snickers. Zayn is making some sort of face, Louis’s not really sure what; he’s been making it for at least the last hour. Unimpressed, probably. Louis has learnt over the past few weeks that Zayn is pretty easy to amuse, even if his amusement comes as a tiny smile instead of him tripping over a sofa laughing like Harry does sometimes, but difficult to properly impress. It’s a challenge. Louis likes a challenge. He’s thinking that he might whip out his encyclopedic knowledge of Power Rangers at some point and see if that rates him a real grin.
> 
> “Wow,” Louis says brightly. “It’s like we’re twins!”
> 
> Future Liam laughs at that like it’s hilarious and not just Louis being sarcastic and a bit of an idiot. His eyes get all crinkled at the corners and everything. Louis has been watching the Future Liam & Future Louis Show for the past however many hours, but it’s weirder when that look is turned on him, like all of a sudden he’s just become the centre of Liam’s world. It’s like going straight from doing bad karaoke in Doncaster to singing onstage in front of hundreds of screaming people and television cameras — amazing, and weird in a funny sort of way, and confusing on a level he can’t really explain.
> 
> It helps that future Liam doesn’t really look much like real Liam, except around the face.
> 
> Niall snickers. “You’d better not be staying,” he says, grinning. “I don’t think any of us can handle two Louises for very long.”
> 
> Louis nudges him in the side, but Niall’s probably right. Too many Louises and they’d start to lose their novelty.
> 
> “Oi!” future Louis protests. “I’m fantastic. Tell him, Liam.”
> 
> He reaches about three inches to the left to jab future Liam’s side, again and again. It doesn’t look like he’s being gentle about it, but all future Liam does is laugh, turning his attention back to future Louis.
> 
> “I dunno,” future Liam says teasingly, “two Tommos, that’s a bit much, you know, Paul has trouble with just the one —”
> 
> “Liiiiam,” future Louis complains. He keeps jabbing until future Liam grabs his hand, at which point he starts hitting future Liam in the thigh with their entwined hands until future Liam puts his other hand down as well.
> 
> Future him is _shameless_ , honestly. It’s a little embarrassing; Louis’d thought he’d grow out of that by the time he turned twenty.
> 
> “If you shag yourself, does it count as masturbating?” Harry asks in his slow, I-am-really-curious-about-this-question drawl.
> 
> “Harry!” real Liam says, scandalised, which means his voice is about two octaves higher than normal. On the other hand, at least he’s finally looked away from the toes of his shoes.
> 
> Future Liam laughs, shaking his head. “Are you quite finished?” he asks the whole room, knocking his shoulder against future Louis’s.
> 
> “Actually,” Zayn says, “can I talk to you?”
> 
> Niall and Liam both turn to look at him, which is as good as an alarm bell when it comes to Zayn. Now that Louis thinks of it, Zayn hasn’t been very chatty this evening, but then, he’s not very chatty most of the time. Occasionally one of them will coax him into a conversation about the judges or comic books or his sisters — he and Louis spent a not-insignificant amount of time discussing the tribulations of having younger sisters — and he and Liam are always having quiet conversations in some tucked-away corner, but he doesn’t volunteer much. Louis only doesn’t poke at Zayn like he pokes at Liam because Zayn doesn’t actually have a stick up his arse.
> 
> Whatever, that doesn’t matter. The point is, Louis’s not surprised that Zayn wants to talk to future Liam. Louis wants to talk to future Liam. Future Liam is _fascinating_ , like if the sky suddenly turned to raspberry jam. Also, if Zayn wants to ask something of a discreet nature then future Liam is probably the best bet.
> 
> “Of course,” future Liam says. Even he looks a little surprised, but he disentangles his hands from future Louis’s and stands up, letting Zayn lead him out the door.
> 
> Liam’s got a wrinkle between his brows. It’s such a familiar expression that it’s almost reassuring. Future Louis’s eyes are narrowed, and that’s a familiar expression too — albeit not generally from this angle — but it’s never been particularly reassuring. Not even to Louis, and he’s generally the one wearing it.
> 
> “Actually,” he begins —
> 
> — and maybe Louis is psychic, or three years actually isn’t much at all, because Louis knows exactly what future Louis is about to say. Which is why he interrupts, “Hang on, that’s not fair, I need some me-time too.”
> 
> Future Louis pauses. “You do not.”
> 
> Louis raises his eyebrows. “How d’you know? When am I ever going to get this chance again?”
> 
> Future Louis darts another fast glance at Liam. Louis drags him off before he can think of any more arguments for staying.
> 
> -
> 
> “I know what you’re doing,” future Louis says. They’re in Belle Amie’s old room, because the door to Liam and Zayn’s room — Storm and John’s old room — is shut tight and Louis doesn’t like to make a habit of spending too much time in bathrooms.
> 
> “What, talking to you? Well I should hope so, or you’ve got the wrong idea about us being in this bedroom. You should never listen to Harold, really, it only ever leads to trouble.”
> 
> “So this is what everyone means when they tell me I’m not as funny as I think I am,” future Louis sighs, because he clearly has a superiority complex. Louis will have to make sure to avoid that when he grows up.
> 
> “Rude,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose. “I am exactly as funny as I think I am.”
> 
> How long is he going to have to distract future Louis for, anyway? Until future Liam and Zayn get back? Until future Louis and future Liam disappear back to their own timeline? What if they never disappear and Louis is stuck with himself as an annoying elder brother forever? Louis has never wanted an annoying elder brother. He’s always _been_ the annoying elder brother.
> 
> Future Louis rolls his eyes. “I just want to talk to him, you don’t have to protect his virtue or anything,” he says, which is just blatant misdirection, because Liam is excellent at protecting his own virtue. He has proved this time and time again when he stubbornly resists Louis’s attempts to drag him into mischief. Liam’s disappointed glare could probably frighten off virtue-stealers far and wide.
> 
> That’s not the point, anyway.
> 
> “Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you,” Louis tells him, crossing his arms. Liam had looked like all he wanted was to leave the room and go hide again, and if Louis had noticed that then future Louis and his superiority complex definitely should have. “Besides, don’t you want to pour all your extra three years of wisdom on me? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Whenever anyone asks you what advice you would give your younger self you can tell them that you’ve already done that.”
> 
> It’s entirely possible that Louis sounds a little sarcastic when he’s saying all that. Only a little, though. Or more than a little, but if there are any better opportunities for self-deprecation, Louis can’t think of them.
> 
> “I was going to tell him that you don’t hate him, you twat,” future Louis says. “See if I try and do anything nice for you now.”
> 
> “So just tell me, and I’ll tell him,” Louis says, trying to keep his eyebrows from wrinkling together. “And of course I don’t hate him, don’t be stupid. He’s the one who thinks I’m useless.”
> 
> “Did I say you _actually_ hated him? No. Calm down, mini-me.” Heh, mini-me. That’s actually sort of clever. Louis wonders if that means he can call his future self Dr. Evil. “But you know, Liam thinks too much.”
> 
> Louis has been getting that impression. He’s not exactly used to it; he and Stan always used to get told off for not thinking enough.
> 
> “So I thought I’d better clear that up, and let you get on with things,” future Louis continues. He still hasn’t refuted the fact that Liam thinks Louis is worthless, probably because Liam really absolutely does think Louis is useless. Which is only fair, really. Louis feels useless most of the time, except when he does things like distract Harry from pre-show vomming by getting him into all sorts of trouble backstage.
> 
> “And you think that Liam will trust you more than me,” Louis says, arch and flat all at the same time. The worst of it is that Liam actually might, for all that he’s not seemed too impressed by their future selves so far. Maybe he’ll follow future Liam’s example and start laughing at future Louis’s jokes.
> 
> Future Louis shrugs. “I do know him better than you.”
> 
> “Oh, shut up,” Louis scoffs. “You know _your_ Liam better. The last time you knew my Liam you were _me_.”
> 
> “I know that he’s terrified of you,” future Louis points out.
> 
> “He’s terrified of you too, you dick,” Louis says, because he’d seen Liam’s face when future Louis had looked over at him, and it hadn’t been the face of someone who wanted to go talk about feelings with his bandmate’s future self. He hadn’t even looked like he’d enjoyed his talk about feelings with his own future self. Louis is hardly setting himself up as an expert on Liam or anything, since god knows fascination is hardly the same thing as comprehension, but he could recognise Liam’s “please please please leave me alone” face while blindfolded.
> 
> Not that he always pays attention, granted. Sometimes Liam needs to be forced to hang out instead of practicing alone in a stairwell. It’s for his own good, and also completely different from the current situation.
> 
> Future Louis opens his mouth, presumably to say something since Louis never usually opens his mouth just to let the flies in, but Louis interrupts him to add, “Look, I don’t need your help, alright? You didn’t have my help, and you managed.”
> 
> Managed magnificently, if Louis is being honest. Managed beyond what Louis thought was even possible.
> 
> “Yeah, and you could manage better if you let me—”
> 
> “No. Shut up,” Louis says again. When he finally convinces Liam to be friends with him he wants it to be because he’s just that charming, not because some future version of himself cheated in his favour. “You’ve gut your own Liam. Leave mine alone.”
> 
> He kicks at future Louis’s leg for emphasis. Future Louis kicks back, a little more gently. “Technically they’re the same Liam.”
> 
> Louis snorts. “They’re really not.”
> 
> Future Louis sits down, which means that Louis has to sit down as well or feel like an idiot every time he has to look down to talk. “Fine,” future Louis says, “but it’s not like I want to keep him. I like my Liam. He gets all my jokes and we’ve got matching tattoos.”
> 
> “You have not,” Louis says, his eyes narrowing despite himself.
> 
> “Have so, ask him. Screw friends for life,” future Louis says. Presumably this means something to him, although Louis has no idea what. “Zayn and Harry have some too, so we’ve just got Niall left.”
> 
> Louis doesn’t say anything, and future Louis sighs. “Alright, I’ll leave it alone. I just wanted to talk to him when everyone wasn’t staring, you know? See if he’s actually wound up as tight as I remember.”
> 
> Louis mentally translates this as future Louis wanting to see whether he could get Liam to smile, now that he had three years more experience. Sheer arrogance, really. Completely unnecessary. On the other hand, future Louis doesn’t seem like he’s about to go find Liam and persuade him to like future Louis better than the actual Louis, so Louis can maybe relent a bit.
> 
> “He tried to get us all to stop drinking milk because it screws up your singing.” Tried being the operative word. It’s not like it’s going to make much of a difference for Louis, anyway; there’s no real reason to give up his cereal in the mornings.
> 
> “Oh god, I forgot about that!”
> 
> “Also I’m pretty sure he blowdries his shoes,” Louis offers, because — well, it may be the only chance he has to gossip about Liam with someone who knows exactly how Louis feels about him.
> 
> “He still does that sometimes, actually,” future Louis says, tilting his head to the side. “But it’s way easier to convince him to sneak out of the hotels at night.”
> 
> Liam, sneaking out at night? Liam, sneaking out at night. Jesus Christ. Louis must be more magical than Harry fucking Potter.
> 
> “Also we had to get Savan to yell at him for practicing all the time,” Louis says. He’d insisted on that one, because he could tell Liam until the end of time that a bit of rest time is good for you, but there wasn’t a chance Liam was going to listen unless they called in the grown-ups.
> 
> Louis had known, knows, that Liam _wants_ this. They’d covered that, in their little chat at the bungalow. Neither of them would’ve agreed to stop playing tug of war with the band responsibilities if they didn’t feel like both of them wanted to make it work. Liam never expected the band, but he wants to make music. He just wants it with an intensity that, according to Savan, is going to make him sick if he keeps it up.
> 
> He thinks sometimes that’s why Liam looks at him with that weird little frown sometimes, when Louis and Harry are being living terrors backstage. Like he doesn’t understand why Louis is mucking about, if he really wants to win. Louis hasn’t wanted to explain that that’s his place in the band, that’s what he does, that they need people to like them if they’re going to get votes, that no band can survive on ambition and harmonies alone without actually having a laugh now and then. It’s not a band that anyone would want to stay in for long, anyway. Louis knows he’s not going to get the solos any time soon, but he can do this.
> 
> Future Louis sighs. “Yeah, I hadn’t actually forgot that one.” He sits back on one of the beds, bouncing a little. “Now he just spends a lot of time in the gym. Biceps like watermelons.”
> 
> “He’s already got a six-pack, practically,” Louis says, thinking of skinny-dipping at the bungalow and the way that Liam had reluctantly peeled off his t-shirt. “What else does he need?”
> 
> The more they talk about it the less real it feels, like it’s all a practical joke, or like they’re talking about people in a movie. And who knows, anyway, maybe it won’t be real at all. Maybe they’ll fuck everything up and some other band will fill the void for the next great boyband, and the five of them will drift apart anyway, and Louis will never go to the Olympics or get matching tattoos with Liam and Harry and Zayn.
> 
> Maybe his thought processes are still similar to future Louis’s, because future Louis says, appropos of nothing much, “I hope Zayn’s wrong. It’d suck if your Liam never became my Liam. My Liam’s the best.”
> 
> Louis kicks his feet back and forth. “He likes you a lot,” he says eventually. He’s not even resentful, mostly.
> 
> “He likes you too,” future Louis says. “I mean, mine, obviously, but yours too. He just doesn’t really get it yet.”
> 
> They let that one drift in the silence of the bedroom for a moment.
> 
> “ _Is_ there anything you want to tell me?” Louis asks, sounding maybe too casual. “Since we’re here, and all?”
> 
> Future Louis draws his feet up to sit cross-legged, like a tattooed Peter Pan. “What, now you want my help?”
> 
> He laughs when Louis makes a face. “No,” Louis says. “Nothing — no cheating. Nothing about what’s going to happen or what I should do or anything. Just, I’m the oldest, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I make sure I can take care of them?”
> 
> “Don’t let Harry read things about himself online,” future Louis says immediately. “Or Zayn. Just don’t read anything online. Also when it comes to Larry shit you’re pretty much screwed, because ignoring it doesn’t work and denying it doesn’t either, and maybe if you’re really lucky you’ll never know what I’m talking about. Um.” He pauses for a moment, frowning in thought. “Niall’s even more crap with crowds than he told you, so make sure you’re always walling him off. Zayn likes company on his smoke breaks but he never asks for it. Liam really likes sporty things. Also kissing boys is pretty much the same as kissing girls, but be careful with the beard burn unless you want everyone to start looking at you funny. And make sure that the stall doors are stable before you try shagging in the loo.”
> 
> Louis almost chokes on thin air. “What? Who—“ His mind makes an automatic jump; he viciously tries to squash this thought down, and fails. He really, really, fails. “Are you fucking with me?”
> 
> Future Louis just grins smugly. “I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”
> 
> “You’re an asshole,” Louis tells him, glaring.
> 
> “Well,” future Louis says. “Know thyself, and everything.” 

-

They leave the same way they arrived, only with a lot less confusion this time. Liam puts on his pajamas and goes to bed.

-

“What’d you ask him about?” Liam dares to ask, in the comparative quiet of him and Zayn’s room. It’s been easier to talk at night these past few weeks, when their conversation isn’t going to get interrupted by snores or hijacked and turned into nonsense laughter. “Or — you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want.”

He’d sort of hoped — well, Zayn had been the only other one not to hang on not-Liam and not-Louis like they were his favourite dream come to life. Not that it mattered. Zayn was allowed to be curious about things too.

“No, it’s —” Zayn begins. Liam hears sheets shifting in this direction of his voice. “It was stupid.”

“Bet it wasn’t,” Liam says immediately, because Zayn is the farthest thing from stupid that Liam knows. “But it’s okay, if it’s private.” Zayn doesn’t respond for a second, and Liam adds, “I asked him if he knew how to drive. It can’t be stupider than that.”

Zayn laughs, just for a second. Liam feels ridiculously proud of himself. It’s nice, making people laugh. Louis must feel like this all the time. “Is that what took you two so long, then?” Zayn asks. “Talking about cars?”

Liam laughs a little too. “He says he and you, or his you, you know, his Zayn, have a bet on to see who can learn to drive first.” There’s a pause, but it’s like most silence with Zayn; it doesn’t feel like it needs to be filled. Zayn’s not going to get bored if Liam can’t think up something witty or brilliant in the next thirty seconds.

The pause keeps going. Liam stares at the darkness where the ceiling should be and thinks about falling asleep, but he’s not sure he can. He’s got not-Liam on repeat in his mind. Everybody else seemed to like not-Liam. He wonders if Zayn did.

“We were talking about change,” Liam says eventually, because he feels like he needs to say it. “I dunno if it was helpful.”

Zayn hums in sympathy, or agreement, or something. Something nice and non-judgmental. After a second he asks, “We’re best mates, right?”

Liam’s eyes had been slipping closed, but now they open wide. “’Course we are,” he says, sending a mental apology to Andy. Liam’s got space to have several best mates, probably, and it’s never been as easy for him with anyone else as it has been with Zayn. Even with Andy, Liam feels like he’s doing something wrong half the time.

“I asked him if he and his Zayn were still best mates in the future,” Zayn says. “Just because of, you know.”

The shitty thing is, Liam thinks he _does_ know. “Oh,” he says. “So you, um. You think we’re really going to become them?”

“Dunno. Harry and I couldn’t decide. That’s not why I asked, anyway.”

“Why did you?” Liam asks. The twinge in his stomach feels a bit like relief.

“Well, he’s — I mean, he’s different, right? You and he are really… different from each other. And Louis is sort of different from the other Louis, so I’m probably different from their me.”

“Right.”

“So I thought that if he and his Zayn are really different from us, and they’re still best mates, then we’ll probably still be best mates no matter what. Right?”

That’s reassuring, actually. Zayn is brilliant. “I never want to stop being your best mate,” he says.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. It sounds like he’s smiling. “That’s what other you said, too.”

-

And then, all of a sudden —

Only it’s not all of a sudden, of course. It’s almost a full day, counting sleep and everything. It’s just that he keeps opening his eyes and feeling like hours have sped past while he wasn’t looking, like he’s been asleep and someone else has been controlling his body in the meanwhile.

It’s ironic, a bit, if that’s what irony means. Liam spent the entire evening waiting eons for every grudging minute to tick by, and now he’s in fast-forward and he just wants to drag everything back to a crawl. Even that sick, sweet, pre-show terror, when — as usual — Harry spends the whole time trying not to retch in the toilets while they all get in the way of the people who’re doing actual work. Even that miserable hour they spend backstage after they get cut, waiting for Matt or Rebecca to win while the cameras watch them trying not to cry.

If Liam has learned anything over the course of his experience with reality television, it’s that they always want to film you crying.

But he’s good, while they’re waiting. He joins in the sniffly group hug, clasps Zayn’s shoulder when Zayn meets his eyes, repeats all the things they’ve already repeated ten times over about One Direction not being over yet. He thanks all the people who come over to say what a shame it is, that they’ve come so far, that they should be proud of themselves. He even makes encouraging noises when Harry and Niall tell each other, with horrible hope in their eyes and absolutely no mention of time travel where they could be overheard, that _things_ could still work out.

He’s good. He’s a good bandmate. He can be a good bandmate, and not just a failed solo performer who couldn’t make it on his own. He can be good.

(His mum asks — when he’s finally allowed to see her, after the show, after Simon has kept them waiting for ages so he can offer them a record contract, when he tells her and watches her go from consoling to enthusiastic, she says, “I know it’s not what you expected, working with a group,” and it doesn’t sound like a question, but he thinks she’s asking all the same.

Liam’s signed his life away to a bunch of boys he barely knows, and sometimes that keeps him up at night for about ten million different reasons, but he’s not about to tell his mum that. “I’m fantastic,” he tells her, watching Niall hug his dad, who had flown in especially from Ireland in order to catch the live show. “Best thing I could have hoped for.”)

-

The wrap party is loud, and cheerful, and full of all sorts of people who keep hugging Liam and yelling how happy they are for him. Matt and Aiden are holding on to each other for dear life; Zayn and Rebecca are talking quietly in a corner; Niall is telling an apparently hilarious story to fully half of the contestants; Harry and Louis are doing some sort of strange two-person conga line over by the stereo. Most of the people there look at least a little drunk, even the ones who are underage. Liam gets the sense that in about an hour, it’s all going to devolve into karaoke.

The empty room he finds himself in ten minutes later is quiet, dull, lonely, and an utter relief.

Is this what it was all for? All those second chances and rejections, for a third-place finish and a record contract and a future that may or may not happen, depending on factors he doesn’t know how to control. Not that it matters. Liam’s spent hours going over past mistakes and the only place he’s ever been able to go is forward.

He wonders if not-Liam’s band had won. He doesn’t think so, because of the way not-Liam had said _wait_ , but he still feels like it’s his fault anyway. He’d been distracted, he’d messed up somehow, and they lost. But of course that’s ridiculous; Matt and Rebecca were just better, and they’d deserved it. This is probably exactly what happened to not-Liam.

_Wait,_ he’d said. _It may not seem like it tomorrow but just wait, alright?_

Liam waited. Liam didn’t have to wait because everything went so quickly he felt almost dizzy with it. At least here, in this empty room, it’s not disorienting; there are no moving pieces to spin around him. There are just walls and furniture and the muffled sound of music from a party that isn’t here.

“Excuse me, I think we’re supposed to be celebrating,” Louis says, and Liam startles so abruptly that he almost hits his head on the wall behind him.

“What?”

“Are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding,” Liam says. He isn’t. He just wanted somewhere to think where he wouldn’t have to worry about pounding stereos or drunk people hugging him. If he were hiding, he thinks, Louis wouldn’t have been able to find him so quickly. “I just needed some air.”

Louis frowns. “Why are you hiding?”

Liam sometimes wonders why he bothers talking, if nobody’s going to listen. They never do, not when he’s talking about vocal practice or harmonies or giving up milk or keeping the room clean. “I’m _not_.”

“Then why aren’t you celebrating with us?” Louis demands, because that’s what Louis does. He does everything loudly, and he never listens, and he demands things. Liam doesn’t know how he ever thought Louis was quiet. He barely even remembers Louis back then, before they became a band and Louis was the first to jump naked into Harry’s stepdad’s pool.

“I wanted some air.” Liam smiles as politely as he can. He’d just wanted to be alone. “I’ll be there in a minute, alright?”

Louis studies him for a second, and then snorts. “You’re such a liar.”

“I am not!” Liam says, and he’s not shouting because this is his new bandmate and he’s going to be polite if it kills him, but. He’d just wanted to be _alone_. “Look, can’t you —”

The door is closed, and Louis is in front of him. Liam wonders when that happened. “This is a good thing, Liam. This is amazing,” Louis says, poking him in the chest. “We have a record contract already and we didn’t even win!”

As if Liam would’ve forgot that part. “I know!”

“So why are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding.” Liam’s not sure how many more times he can say it. “I just don’t really like parties.”

He can’t read the face Louis makes at that. Probably Louis thinking he’s a twat, again. Louis probably goes to lots of parties all the time. He’s probably the life of the party.

Liam doesn’t really expect Louis to say, “Then I’ll keep you company.”

“What?” So much for not being disoriented. Being around Louis never does much for Liam’s sense of composure.

“Be a shit bandmate if I left you here all alone, wouldn’t I?” Louis asks, which is — actually nice, considering. He’s volunteering to give up having fun, for Liam. It’s sweet, even. Liam just doesn’t need sweet right now.

He sighs. “Really, it’s all right, I just wanted a bit of space. I’ll catch up in a bit.”

Instead of leaving, which Liam wants him to do, or keeping on talking, which Liam sort of expects him to do, Louis just looks at Liam, his eyebrows furrowed like he’s trying to figure something out. “Is it really that awful, being with us? Having to sign with us, I mean? I know you don’t like me, but —”

“I don’t!” Liam protests. “I mean, I do, I — it’s not awful, what are you even talking about?”

Louis raises his eyebrows, like Liam is missing something, or like he’s being deliberately thick, or like Louis is just feeling superior. “Everyone is celebrating and you’re shut up in here looking like someone kicked your puppy, so I figured either it’s the losing thing or you’re mad that you’re stuck with us.”

“I’m not mad,” Liam says.

“So it’s the losing?” Louis looks honestly baffled. “But — I mean, I was gutted too, but it’s not like we were ever going to win. You knew that. And maybe it’s not going to be exactly the same as it was for them, but —”

“It’s not that,” Liam says, his voice rising a little because it’s _not_ , and maybe he’s upset but he was dealing with it before Louis shoved his way into the room. It would’ve been fixed. He would’ve been fine.

“So what is it, then?” Louis asks. “Because future you —”

Liam slams his hand against the wall and shouts, “I’m not him!”

There’s a pause, for a moment, and then Louis breaks it. Because that’s what Louis does. “I know,” he says, sounding careful.

Careful of _Liam_ , like he’s suddenly worried that he’s pushed too far, like he’s snapped something he didn’t know was there. Liam’s not sure he hasn’t.

“But you want me to be him, don’t you?” he demands. There’s something fierce and wild in his lungs, like the way he felt at the gym when he was thirteen and he couldn’t stop hitting the punching bag, over and over again until he could force himself to be good enough. He thinks about Louis’s expression all last night, like he’d found God.

Louis frowns. “No? Is this what you’re upset about?”

“I’m not upset!” Liam says. “But you keep looking at me like you’re waiting for me to be him and I’m not, alright, I’m not going to become him, so just stop it!”

“Then stop assuming things about me! Liam, why would I want that?”

Liam’s voice is harsh and raw in the back of his throat when he shouts, “Because he’s better than me!”

“Oh, shut up!” Louis shouts back. “I don’t want you to be him, I just want you to like me!”

There’s another pause, only this time Louis doesn’t break it. The last time Liam felt like this, someone had literally hit him in the gut and knocked all the breath out of him.

“Oh,” he says eventually, uncertain.

Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well.”

“But —” But Louis doesn’t like him. Louis thinks that he’s boring, and stuck up, and takes everything too seriously. “I do like you.”

Louis looks at him skeptically. “You think I’m an idiot. And reckless, and immature.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” Liam says weakly, because — well, he does think that Louis is reckless and immature. Louis _is_ reckless and immature. He just didn’t think that Louis cared that he thought that. “And you don’t even like me either.”

It hasn’t been a problem, really. He and Louis get into more fights when they’re stressed than the others, but mostly it’s just meant that Louis is always screwing with him, and they don’t hang out just the two of them. You can’t get along perfectly with everyone. Liam’s used to it.

“I ignore people I don’t like,” Louis says plainly, as if he’s not mucking up Liam’s entire perception of the last few months. “I just want to see you have fun, Liam. I don’t want you to become a different person.”

Sometimes all Liam _wants_ is to be a different person. He tries to convince himself that the stinging in the corners of his eyes is just left over from crying earlier today. “But you liked him.”

Louis makes a face. Liam can’t read this one, either. “Yeah, but not like — he and future me knew each other really well, right?” He looks over, presumably waiting for Liam’s hesitant nod. “And if you’re him then it’s like you’re suddenly a different person and I wasn’t there for it. I want to know you. You know?”

It makes Liam think of what Zayn said last night, and he’s not sure how he ended up here, with all these people who apparently don’t care if he changes as long as he doesn’t leave them behind. He thought X Factor would be scary, but this is terrifying.

“But what if it’s all ruined because I’m not him?” he asks, and the stinging isn’t there. It _isn’t_. “What if I can’t be funny or stop taking things so seriously, and we don’t get to be famous and make music and do everything they did?”

Louis nods solemnly. “What if I refuse to let myself get a bunch of stupid tattoos and I muck everything up?”

Liam flushes. “I’m being serious.” 

“I am too,” Louis says. He drops down to sit on the floor, kicking at Liam’s feet until Liam sits as well. “The tattoo thing was weird. Didn’t you think the tattoo thing was weird?”

The tattoo thing was very weird. “I suppose,” Liam says. On Zayn it would’ve been less weird, maybe, because Zayn already talks about the tattoos he’s going to get when he’s older, has pages full of sketches, but on him and Louis it was — unexpected.

“You suppose,” Louis snorts. "Anyway, Niall and Harry and I were talking about this last night. ‘Slike the Mirror of Erised, right? You see what you want and it sends you mad.”

Well, that’s… positive thinking. But Liam thinks he understands what Louis is saying, anyway, the way being so focused on something that may or may not happen can drive you to distraction, because every choice you make suddenly takes on extra weight — suddenly becomes a question of, _will this get me there?_ And if it doesn’t, then where do you go from there? And whose fault is it? Is it your fault, because you knew you could make it but something went wrong —

Actually, put like that, it sounds a lot like this series of X Factor.

“So what did you decide?” he asks quietly, crossing his legs. His knees touch Louis’s, and the brush of denim against denim sounds surprisingly loud between them.

“Mostly not to think about it,” Louis says. Liam sighs. It’s easy for them to decide that, when he doesn’t think he’s met two people who live more in the moment than Niall and Harry. “But you think about everything.”

And yes, lovely, another area where Liam fails because he takes everything too seriously. Excellent. “I’ll be fine,” he says, trying to figure out how he can make that true. Not-Liam had said hard work. He can work at this, too.

There’s a hand on his arm. Liam stares down at it. It’s Louis’s hand, of course, but Liam doesn’t know when it got there, or why. “Do you trust me?”

What sort of question is that? Not-Liam trusts not-Louis, Liam thinks, but there’s something a bit too Star Trek about basing his decisions on that. “I don’t know.”

“Have I screwed up, dealing with the management things?” Louis asks, and that’s —

“No,” Liam says slowly. Liam was worried he would, Liam spent half of the series fretting about how he’d step in and smooth things over, but he’d never needed to. People find Louis charming. Liam’s seen it at work, when Louis makes someone the undivided focus of his attention and they can’t help falling apart. Liam’s not sure he’d be able to handle having someone so intent on making him laugh.

“So let’s make a deal. You get to keep worrying about the music stuff, and I get to keep you distracted from everything else.”

Liam looks up, but Louis actually looks serious about this. “What?”

“It’ll be fun,” Louis says, starting to smile.

“You want to — what, distract me from worrying about it?” Liam asks. Louis nods like he thinks it’s just that easy, which just goes to prove how little he actually knows Liam. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Your lack of faith disturbs me,” Louis says, in what Liam thinks is supposed to be a Darth Vader voice except for how he keeps ruining it by laughing. “I bet you it will.”

“You can’t just bet me —“

“I dare you,” Louis says. His smile is turning into a grin. Liam has to try really, really hard not to smile back. “I double-dog dare you.”

“It doesn’t work that way!” he says, because it’s not going to and then Louis is going to get frustrated and disappointed and stop liking Liam, and Liam didn’t quite realise until this conversation that he actually _wants _Louis to like him.__

__“Not if you’re not willing to try, it’s not,” Louis tells him, lifting one eyebrow._ _

__Liam has to bite back the automatic response that of course he’s willing to try — he’s always willing to try — and Louis looks like he knows it, which is just plain cheating. But it’s Louis cheating so that he can try and help Liam, and that’s… Liam’s not sure what it is. He hates the idea of needing help. He’s not used to anyone outside his family offering._ _

__He notices abruptly that his eyes aren’t stinging anymore._ _

__“Why are you doing this?”_ _

__Louis looks at him for a moment. “We’re a band,” he says eventually. His hand is still on Liam’s arm. “Shouldn’t we look out for each other?”_ _

___Just let them like you,_ not-Liam said, stopping Liam just before they joined the others. Liam’s not sure not-Liam remembered how hard that is. Liam’s not sure what he has to give besides the music._ _

__“Yeah, suppose so,” he says._ _

__Louis’s grin is blinding. “So you’ll try?”_ _

__“I’ll try,” Liam agrees. “But I still don’t think it’s going to work.”_ _

__“Positive thinking,” Louis tells him, leaning forward so their knees press into each other. His free hand drops to Liam’s thigh. “I’m really good at being distracting, you know.”_ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__Louis pushes himself forward, using his hand on Liam’s leg for leverage, and presses their lips together so briefly that it’s over before Liam can even think about how to respond. “Yeah,” he says, and pulls himself and Liam back upright again. “Come on, we’re celebrating.”_ _

__“We are?” Liam asks, stumbling over his feet._ _

__Louis, tugging him out of the room, turns to flash a smile over his shoulder. “Of course we are. We’re going to be famous.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: if this fic were from future!Liam and future!Louis's point of view, it would be called "Liam and Louis Go On a Bro-date to the Past," and it would involve way fewer emotional breakdowns.


End file.
